Little (Black Magic) Women
by casnotcass
Summary: Stella and Roxi DeLuci, along with their psychic aunt Jayna Somers take a trip to the annual Psychic and Pagan Festival in Salem, MA. While they look forward to a relaxing vacation away from hunting, they find that danger always seems to follow hunters, and call TFW for reinforcements. (Roxi/Dean) (Sam/Jayna) (Stella/Cas)
1. Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

Roxi's phone buzzed twice on the bedside table, the notification alerting her of a new voicemail. It was so surprisingly aggressive that it clanged against the rotund, faux-gold lamp, creating a hollow sound that woke her from a sweaty embrace.

"Fuck," she murmured, blindly slapping her hand against the short table, trying not to move and wake the sleeping man next to her. To her dismay, Dean slept lightly, and as she turned her body away from him, he awoke with a gasp.

"What is it," Dean croaked, his eyes still heavily lidded and his hair adorably tousled from their evening together.

"My sister called me four times." She groaned, the brief silence filled by a harsh voice in the digital message. "I'm late to meet them for our yearly trip to Salem."

Dean grumbled, turning over to the other side of the bed, burying his face under a pillow. Still, Roxi could make out, "fuckin' witches' from underneath the down feathers. She punched him in the ass.

"Hey." He scolded, rubbing his sheet-covered bottom playfully. In truth, she didn't hit him as hard as she could have. Dean had trained with her and knew that she was one of the toughest sparring partners around. "What's in Salem, anyway?"

Roxi was already pulling on jeans, pulling out a plaid shirt and replacing it with a dress and red thong from the floor, shoving them haphazardly into her maroon backpack. She belted her jeans before pulling on a shirt, giving Dean a reverse striptease of her padded red bra. "Yearly festival. Jayna likes to get up on the latest tarot spreads and see some friends. It's fun. It always ends with this full moon celebration." She tied her pink plaid shirt around her waist, and leaned down to kiss him. "You can come, if you want. I know how much you loOove witchy stuff."

He tried to twine his hand through her thick dark curls, holding her to him for a longer kiss. She pushed his chest back, breaking them apart with a head tilt that said, _I don't have time for you._

He scoffed. "Whatever babe. Just don't call me crying when you open a portal to a demon you can't control!"

"Talking boards aren't dangerous when used correctly, Dean!" Roxi sang, slamming shut the door to their hotel room.

* * *

"Roxanne Ophelia DeLuci. You are so fucking late, kiddo."

As Roxi skipped down her dorm steps, she saw her sister leaning up against her blue Caprice, its engine chugging faithfully. Stella's arms were crossed, tapping her black combat boots against the uneven pavement. This week her hair was dyed bright bleach blonde, an attempt to dye out the cranberry hair she had during the fall. Since she always opted for DIY rather than a professional salon job, the pink was only faded, making her head look like a swirl of faded cotton candy. It made her seem less intimidating than usual. Roxi giggled at her bossy older sister, flipping her long, damp curls over her shoulder.

"Where _in the fuck_ were you? I called at least ten times this morning."

"Sorry, Stel. I wanted to shower after I woke up. And then I had to pack, because I forgot to last night." Stella scoffed, knowing her sister was somehow lying to her by the higher pitch of her voice but Roxi kept talking, "Besides, it's not that long of a drive." She shrugged, widening her gorgeous brown eyes in an attempt for mercy. It usually worked. Today, it didn't.

Stella ignored the fib in favor of coaxing her sister into the car. She didn't need a confrontation before a three hour drive.

"We still have to pick up Jayna, and we were supposed to do that _two_ _hours_ ago. I had to _beg_ her over the phone not to do a pendulum reading to find you. Now her _juju_ is all thrown off." At _juju,_ Stella made an almost arachnid movement with her fingers. She climbed into her car, making a waving gesture to her little sister to do the same.

Roxi scooted into the car, stowing her backpack under her passenger seat, after storing her duffel bag and a satchel full of hunting gear in Stella's trunk.

"That's a lot of stuff for a few days in Salem." Stella remarked, her own belongings isolated to a small overnight bag and backpack (for her research/hunting things of course).

Roxi put in her earbuds already cranked loud with EDM music, "I just want to be prepared for anything." She bopped her head to the bass, watching the city streets turn into manicured suburbia.

"We always are," Stella said, preparing herself for the road ahead.

* * *

Jayna sauntered out of her small home and down her walkway, adorned in her favorite monarch butterfly shawl and dark skirt, allowing her oldest niece carry her suitcase for her. Her hands were full of the black and golden eyed cat she called Zeke and her bag full of psychic tools.

"Hey, I thought black cats were bad luck," Roxi called, her arms folded over the open car window.

Jayna shook her head, her short brown hair moving like water over her shoulders. "Only if you don't understand them, my darling. On the contrary, it's good luck for us to bring Zeke along to our Salem gathering. Black cats are the most faithful companion and protectors of psychics like me." She slipped into the backseat silently. "I'm sure Zeke would be honored to look after my girls as well."

The small Chevy shook with Stella's slam of the trunk. She sat back in the driver's seat, and cracked her neck before starting the car.

"Aaaaand we're off," Stella exclaimed, attempting to imitate a racecar announcer's voice.

"To unpathed waters, undreamed shores." Jayna sighed, stroking the ears of her shadowcat. "Stella?"

"A Winter's Tale." She replied, without missing a beat. "Though I prefer the stage direction, 'Exit, pursued by a bear'." Roxi laughed and replaced her earbuds.

Stella shook her head at her sister's snub of her music. But she knew her aunt would appreciate, "I made us a Salem-witch themed playlist for our drive. It's a little too short for the drive but it'll keep us from using the shoddy radio for as long as possible."

She inserted a CD in the drive and turned the dial, with Fleetwood Mac's _Rhiannon_ starting to croon through the speakers. Stella sang along, trying to remember as many of the lyrics as possible.

Jayna hummed from the back, scratching the ears of her cat and letting herself melt into the warmth of the backseat.


	2. Haunt You - The Pack AD

June's hands quivered, ripped tissue poking through the gaps between her fingers.

"Please relax your hands. The spirits will not allow a true response if you nervous." She turned to her scribe, a boy with a birdlike frame. "Bring me chamomile tea, at once. For both me and my guest."

He nodded solemnly, "Yes, Madame de Rothschild." And slipped off nimbly.

"I know." June said quietly, addressing the nervousness a beat too late. It was her third talking board reading this week, she wanted real answers and wanted them quickly. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the tall lavender candles that sat in the corners of the room. The breath reached her diaphragm and tickled the child in her womb. She had always loved the smell of lavender. It reminded her of her childhood home, offering her comfort. That might have been why she instinctively trusted this psychic above the others, despite her offensive name.

The scribe placed a china cup into the earthy hands of the psychic, and then June's own ashen palms. The psychic took a sip, and paused for June to also sip her tea. Psychic Rothschild blinked blue eyelids that opened and closed over purple colored contacts, watching June replace the small china cup into the saucer. Her dark hair seemed slightly askew, like a wig that was put on incorrectly. Perhaps, it was a wig. "Are you ready to begin, my child?"

June took another breath. "Of course." She placed a clammy hand over her belly, her child's head nudging against her hand through her flesh and clothing. This gesture seemed to offer reassurance to her child and herself, her fingers no longer shaking as she placed them on the planchette of the talking board.

"Spirit, I, Gitana de Rothschild, invoke, conjure and command you to open yourself for advice in this sacred space. I call upon my spirit guides. Be with me here and speak to me through this medium. Indicate your presence here by moving the planchette to 'yes'."

June silently prayed that she would finally find a true psychic, one that would give her advice for the future. The disheveled nature of de Rothschild was not as convincing as her last divination readings. Almost out of options, June turned to the side of Salem that was prepared for the festival for her last shreds of hope. She watched as the planchette moved to 'yes,' like it did every time. It seemed to impress Psychic Rothschild's scribe more than her. He watched with his large hazel eyes glued to the planchette, his small hand clamped down on the ballpoint pen he held. June blinked at him a few times, wondering why she saw him with a pale blue glow. After a moment, it went away.

"Saint Peter, Keeper of The Gate, Lord of Hidden Road Between Life and Death, I call on you. Saint Peter, I summon you. A follower of the Old Ways calls out to you. Open the gate between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead for I would traffick with the Peaceful Departed."

This seemed more legitimate than before. June was almost impressed by this old woman's command of the talking board.

"I call upon the Peaceful Dead. If there are any among you who would speak to us this night then be with us now in this sacred space. Indicate your presence and readiness by moving the planchette to 'yes'."

Again, the planchette moved to yes. There was a moment and the psychic looked at June and nodded. She cleared her throat and continued. Her voice floated in the room. Sacred space, it was.

"Peaceful spirits, I thank you for your willingness to speak with us this sacred night. We ask you for advice during the advent of this woman's pregnancy. Please, give us the answers we seek. If you can offer help, please give us your name."

The talking board froze on 'yes,' and the psychic opened a single eye to peek at the board and sighed.

"Peaceful spirits, we promise not to use you for harm or bad will. If you will return our good intentions, please give us your name."

The planchette moved to the letter D and hesitated, only to move to 'no.' The scribe scribbled down the movements of the talking board. "Peaceful spirit called "D," thank you for offering your help. Do you have a message for this woman? Please have no fear and speak honestly in this sacred space."

The Ouija board moved from 'no' and spelled d – a – n – g – e – r – t- u – r – n – b – a – c – k – h – e – c – o – m – e –s.

The scribe's pen scratched against the page until he gasped and looked at Madame de Rothschild. "He comes?" He whispered, his high voice lilting at the end of the question.

June's eyes widened in horror as she watched Madame de Rothschild's lavender aura turn white, her purple eyes turning into pits of flame.

June screamed. She screamed as Madame de Rothschild did, their hands dragging the talking board to "good – bye."


	3. Bad Karma - Ida Marie

"Remind me again why we couldn't get three beds?" Roxi's duffel slammed to the floor, along with her two other bags.

"Because it's two beds or two rooms, and we don't need two rooms," Stella said, putting her overnight bag at the foot of a modern looking couch. She made her way to the small closet, hoping that there would be an extra set of sheets. She found one thin pillow, and made a mental note to call down to the front desk for another, and a blanket or two.

The hotel room was a little nicer than their usual digs, which involved shady hotels with the boys on a hunt. Since this was a vacation of sorts, the little women picked the adorable bed and breakfast called _The Merchant,_ situated at the scenic town center of Salem. Their room was painted a cheerful sherbet color, making the January weather seem much cozier. The sheets and pillows were also brightly colored, which were promised from the pictures Stella had skimmed through online. When initially booking the place, she secretly wanted a room a little more witchy and historically Salem, but settled for a newer building that couldn't possibly be haunted.

This was vacation, after all.

"At least let me take the couch." Roxi whined. "You never sleep, so you should take the bed."

Stella shook her head and smiled, "I wouldn't sleep well either way." She flopped herself onto the couch and sighed, "Besides, I'm already very comfortable here." She picked up the phone next to the couch and called the front desk for a wakeup call and extra blankets.

Jayna emerged from the bathroom, her deep orange monarch shawl shuddering in a breeze that didn't seem to exist before. "Well ladies, I am sufficiently refreshed from our journey. Who is ready to explore this year's Salem Festival?" She jangled her bohemian bag, up-cycled and made by Roxi as a Christmas gift. She had embroidered patches and decorated the front with a row of coins. Inside was a variety of secret pockets that Roxi helped fill with precious stones and small jars of rock salt and graveyard dirt and the like.

Stella hung up the phone and bolted to the bathroom, with a "two seconds" hanging in the hair behind her. It distracted Jayna from a curious look that appeared on Roxi's face.

"What did Dean say?" Jayna prodded, to the surprise of her raven-haired niece.

"Don't read my thoughts!"

"Don't project your thoughts!"  
"I can't help it." She beamed at her phone. "He sent me pictures of Sam with antlers on." She held up the photo for her aunt to see.

Sam himself was texting with a set of Christmas antlers on. The second picture was him looking fed up at the camera. The third was blurred, but with a hand covering the lens of the camera. "Adorable." Jayna commented, turning a rosy shade herself.

Stella came out of the bathroom, her eyeliner redrawn into thick wings at the corner of her eyes. She grabbed her black leather handbag, and slipped a switchblade into her black combat boot. "Ready."

Roxi started to pull on a pair of heeled booties.

"Roxi." Jayna chuckled, "We're walking in town."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Roxi raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

Stella rolled her eyes. "Salem equals cobblestones. We do this every year. You get blisters every year." She gestured to Roxi's huge bag. "Put the heels back. Save them for bars tonight or something."

"Right." Roxi nodded, replacing her booties with tall tan boots that slipped over her dark jeans. Since this past August she had turned 21, she was finally allowed to go out on a self-designed bar crawl with her older sister and aunt. Salem bars had the common theme of being equally haunting and adorable, some more touristy than others, some touting real murders taking place inside the walls.

She stood up and flipped her long curls to one side, revealing the side of her shaved head. "Let's go." She resolved, striding out of the hotel room and leaving a trail of apple, jasmine and amber scent in her wake.

"Wonderful turnout this year," Jayna clapped her hands together, breathing in the smells of sage and rosemary that lingered between the streets, vendors in makeshift tents bundled up to combat the delayed winter air.

Tables lined the wide streets of the town circle, entirely blocked off by police cars. While it was a bit of an inconvenience, the Salem businesses were flooded with people eating and drinking and learning about the town history. The DeLuci sisters with Ms. Avalon were often included in this group.

Stella and Roxi walked arm in arm, until Stella noticed a vendor selling "kitchen witchery," spells and potions baked into breads and jams. She rejoined the group, tearing up one small loaf to split between them, and hiding the other (along with a small jar of something raspberry-colored) into her shoulderbag.

"What's this supposed to do?" Roxi questioned, ripping into the thick, hearty bread with her incisors. A sunflower seed stuck to her ruby lip, which she licked off with her tongue.

"Hm…" Stella read the slip of paper that accompanied the bread. "Grounded-ness and patience."

Jayna swallowed her bit of bread. "Are you in need of those traits?"

"No, this one looked the most delicious." Stella bit into the bread again, with a loud and vaguely sexual groan.

Roxi was about to make a snide comment to their aunt, but noticed that she had stopped in front of an empty table. It was the first they had seen completely bare, without any tapestries or crystals or wind chimes. There was no tarot spread, no person with a beautiful shawl and a funny look on their face sitting behind the table.

Roxi and Stella looked at each other, neither one of them wanting to guess what Jayna Avalon would say next.

"I know this name." Jayna's small hands grazed the note taped to the table. A placeholder, it seemed, for the person who was supposed to set up a tent.

"Why isn't she here?" Jayna tapped her fingers on the table and closed her eyes. The girls recognized this expression immediately; she was trying to get a reading on the energy around the table. She shook her head, unable to feel the person's presence anywhere. "This is not good." She concluded, and strode down the walkway at a faster pace than before, her monarch shawl flapping like angry wings in the breeze.

The girls looked down at the name on the notecard, Stella gently pulled the scotch tape off of plastic table.

Mdme. Gitana de Rothschild


	4. Dressed In Black - Sia

Wind chimes announced the entrance of the women, first a soft chime that announced the swift entrance of psychic Jayna Avalon and her cat, and a louder, more aggressive ring that lingered after the DeLuci sisters entered.

Having the black cat, Zeke, with her was Jayna's way of sensing things that might not be on her radar. In readings at Jayna's own shop, Zeke was the one who sensed a bad or wicked presence on her off days. Sometimes her third eye became congested like a head cold, and Zeke could be there to pick up her slack.

Before they made it a few paces into the small, soft purple painted shop, Zeke hissed and hid under Jayna's skirt as the DeLuci's looked on.

"I know, Zeke darling, I know." Jayna's eyes skittered around the room, her hands extended, trying to pick up the small psychic reverberations in the air. The shop itself was a conductor of spiritual energy, as any good mystic's shop was.

Stella strode to the front desk, a square glass counter with huge, gorgeous stones inside, and picked up a business card.

Madame Gitana de Rothschild

Séances, Ouija, Candle Spells

Someone on the other side has a message for you:

Find out why in less than 30 minutes, today!

She held up the card for her sister to take a look, "I definitely don't want to hear the messages from the other side. They can't be good."

Roxi giggled, and slipped the card into her wallet. "Zeke obviously gets a bad vibe from this place. Jayna? Who is she?"

"Yeah, how do you know her?" Stella fingered the crystal ball on the table. It gave her an electric shock. She pulled her fingers away, and went into detective mode, suddenly aware that the ball was no longer in the middle of the bare table. "Isn't there usually a tablecloth under these things?" She gestured to Roxi, unable to get the attention of their aunt, who was still pacing with her arms out, biting her lip.

Roxi nodded, scanning the room. "Altar cloth, actually." She grinned and looked at her sister. "Trash bin." She ran over to a tall wicker basket, revealing a silky, violet cloth scattered with silver stars. It had a circular burn in the middle, where a ball could go.

Roxi rubbed the cloth between her fingers. Her forefinger and thumb were coated in…"Wax? From lighting candles. Could just be a burn from a fallen candle, no big deal." She shrugged, but held onto the cloth.

"We wouldn't be here if it were just a fallen candle." Stella said, striding toward a small desk in the far corner of the room. She pulled out the drawer, delicately placing various things on top, and meticulously replacing them when she was finished.

"Something definitely happened here." Jayna concluded, her cat finally emerging from her long skirt. Before she divulged any more information, she stood up straighter. "Someone is here to tell us about it."

The beads that hung over the far doorway parted, letting through a tall, gap-toothed woman with copper skin and thick brown waves for hair. "No fuckin' way."

"Rosalind," Jayna sighed, her arms outstretched to the woman.

"Jayna," Rosalind said, shaking her head, tears dotting the crows feet at the corners of her eyes. "Goddamn it. She told me you would be here. Refused to let me lock the door, and then sent me here from the hospital. Old bat never fails to creep me out." She laughed into the warm arms of the psychic and took a breath. They held onto each other for a beat longer.

The girls looked at each other, Roxi started tapping her foot, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"Hospital?" Stella tested, putting a hand on Roxi's shoulder. "Are you related to Madame de Rothschild?"

Rosalind wiped her eyes quickly, wiping them on her pinstriped black slacks. "I'm her daughter. Rosalind Rothschild." She smiled warmly at Jayna. "I dropped the 'de' when I got married. Way too mystic for a soccer mom."

"A soccer mom…" Jayna nodded, "So, where is she? I saw her empty table at the festival circle."

"Fuck fuck fuck," Rosalind pinched the bridge of her nose. "I completely forgot to cancel that table, but I've been between the hospital and the police station going nuts for the past two days."

She sat herself at the small circular table in the middle of the room, running her finger along the chrome design of the crystal ball stand. "This year she got popular enough to make it to the town circle. So excited."

"So what happened? Did she die?"

Stella shot Roxi a quick, _Come on, we talked about this_ glare. Roxi raised her eyebrows at her sister. Roxi wanted answers and _fast._

Thankfully, Rosalind chuckled at the suggestion, "Nothing could kill that old bat. I had to force her to stay at the hospital so they could figure out what happened to her. She wanted to get to the festival, says her third eye is more open than ever. Already bought a few glass eyes on Amazon, with the help of my son."

"She lost her eyes?"

"She calls it a séance gone wrong. 'Angry spirits' and such. The doctors had her evaluated, and think she burned out her own eyes." Rosalind shook her head, her curls bouncing in midair.

The girls looked at each other. "Fucking spirits," Stella muttered to her sister. "Can't even have a vacation."

Roxi shrugged. "Dean said that hunting was a full time job. It starts to follow you around." She grinned. "Besides, what could be better than meeting the spirits of Salem?"

"Getting our eyes burned out by the spirits of Salem." Stella rolled hers and cleared her throat loudly, interrupting Jayna and Rosalind from beaming at each other. "Is there a way we can talk to your mother? Or anyone who was there at the time of the incident?"

"Oh," Rosalind jumped with her memory, and started rummaging through the bag that rested in the doorway where she dropped it. "That's why I'm here. She actually told me to give you this."

She handed Roxi, the closest woman to her, a bundle tied together with twine.

"Notebooks – two. One is her personal journal that she uses on séances, and the other is her official registry of patrons."

"Thanks," Roxi said, pulling off the twine and walking towards the exit, happy that she had answers in her hand. She touched her sister's arm to whisper, "We should get the police reports on these. If there was an ambulance, there's gotta be a police report."

Stella was tapping her smartphone. "Already way ahead of you." She waved the non emergency number of the Salem PD on her screen.

"I'll start the car."

"I'm still driving."

Roxi rolled her eyes and took the keys out of Stella's coat pocket.

Stella started to turn on her heel, dialing the local police department to engage a malleable deputy in sweet talk, when out of the corner of her eye she watched a tender touch of the wrist in goodbye between her psychic aunt and the victim's daughter.


	5. Strange Magic - Electric Light Orchestra

"You have GOT to be kidding me."

"Can you stop? Please? You've been yelling that in my ear. It's not a big car."

"You HAVE got to be KIDDING me."

"Roxi, I swear to God I will turn this car around." Stella hit the steering wheel with her hand, imitating the way she would occasionally hit the drums as she drove. This time, it was in frustration.

"Roxi, my love, it was many years ago. We've both moved on. She is a very old flame." Jayna scratched behind her cat's ears, his purrs agreeing with her every word.

The nonchalance of her words made Roxi wonder just how brief of a chapter Rosalind was. It maybe wasn't the fact that Rosalind was a woman, but that her aunt had never mentioned her before. The DeLuci sisters and their Jayna had barely any secrets between them. She reasoned that if there was that much electricity between them, there had to be a more complex story than "they moved on."

It made Roxi feel a tad bit guilty of her own dirty little secret by the name of Dean Winchester.

Roxi shook her head, her elbow resting on the tiny shelf that the window made, freezing air gushing in through the open glass. The car was old enough that Stella had no way of closing the window remotely; Roxi had stubbornly hand-cranked the window open to feel that crisp January air.

"I just can't believe it." Roxi's dark curls fluttered through the open window. "Am I the only straight one in this car?"

Stella shrugged and turned her wheel hard into a tiny parking lot, and into a parking space. "We're finally here."

Roxi unbuckled herself, but Stella made a loud, "MMMMmmm no." at her as she popped open the cracked glove compartment at Roxi's knees.

"What?"

"I'm going in alone." She grabbed her fake reporter badge that Sam made for her, and slapped the glove compartment shut. She hung the badge around her neck. "I'll be in and out, just need the police report. Besides, the three of us as reporters seems like overkill."

"At least pull your tank top down a bit. You look Amish."

Stella closed the door and rolled her eyes, walked a few hesitant paces and then ran back to open the blue Chevy's door. "Do you know if my blazer's in the trunk?"

Roxi nodded. "It might be crinkled."

Stella smirked, "Can you pop the trunk for me?"

"Of course. Fake lenses are back there, too." Roxi leaned down and pulled the leaver next to the driver's seat, and the small blue car lurched as Stella opened and closed the rear, re-emerging bespeckled, her thick blue denim jacket replaced with a slightly wrinkled black blazer.

Before entering the station, she turned back to the car and adjusted her bosom, her younger (and bustier) sister giving her a thumbs-up of approval.

Roxi shifted in the passenger seat, scooting herself around so that she could see why her aunt was so quiet. "We should start reading that journal of the medium."

Jayna peeked over the pale blue moleskin journal. "Way ahead of you, love." She turned the journal around so that the young huntress could see two styles of handwriting in a two-page spread. "The Madame had a scribe pen the last entry."

Roxi squinted at the difference between the looping lines and the last entry of cramped scribbles on the page. She raised her gaze to match her aunt's round hazel-amber eyes, trying to read in her if it could be the person – or thing – that attached Madame de Rothschild.

* * *

Stella licked her thumb and rubbed a smudge off of her fake-reporter badge. It seemed like maybe a stray glove compartment M&M melted over her face – there was a swirl of chocolate and red gunk in her photograph's hair.

As she pushed in the second set of doors she contemplated putting on her, "I Am A High Powered Reporter, Don't Ask Me Too Many Questions Or I Might Burn Down Your House And Frame You For It" face. Instead, she did her best to soften her eyes and try not to scowl. She consciously relaxed her forehead and exhaled in a smile.

"Hi there," Stella said, glanced down at the desk cop's nameplate. " _Officer_ Sullivan." She said officer like she imagined a mistress might, crossing her fingers. She felt like she was betraying every feminist instinct in her body that puked at the sound of her too-high voice trill _officer,_ but she didn't want to waste any time without a backup.

She judged him right – his bushy and grey-spotted mustache took an upturn and she could see the laugh lines in his five-o-clock shadow. "Hi there" He grinned; spinach or broccoli or something green was still stuck on an incisor. His voice was higher than she expected judging his wide stature.

"My name is Stella White, I'm a reporter from the Salem Daily." She smiled again, sensing a prickle of distrust in the officer's tired eyes. "I'm here to pick up the police reports for the psychic case?"

"Miss," he scoffed, "We're not trying to cause a panic in time for the festival. It brings in big revenue for the town so we're trying to investigate this _police matter_ quietly."

"Officer," she tried smiling again, but it came off more like she was baring her teeth at him. She closed her mouth. "These reports are public record, are they not?"

"On an active investigation? Unless you're another officer—"

"Please, I'm not trying to obstruct justice…or anything, just investigating a story that I was assigned to." He raised his thick eyebrows at her. "One that I am…" She twirled a short wave of her hair around her finger. " _very_ interested in."

He rolled his eyes, but Stella could see his pupils dilate. "Which one?" He said reluctantly.

"There are multiple?"

He nodded as he stood, and Stella noticed a faded coffee stain that was being hidden by his navy tie. "This is Salem, Miss. Home of the psychics. Are you even from around here?"

Stella's stomach dropped and she pushed her fake lenses back up the bridge of her nose. "Just moved here two weeks ago. It's my…first report for this paper."

This seemed to impress Officer Sullivan. Playing up the young virgin journalist seemed to be working better than Stella expected. She continued, "I _really_ want to make a good first impression. I'll take any open cases involving a violent Psychic murder or attack."

He looked at her strangely. Had she spoken too explicitly too quickly? "Please?" She tried.

"We have three open cases right now." He slapped down three beige manila folders on the counter, her short locks breezing up behind her ears with the air. "Copies. Enjoy, Miss White."

Stella beamed triumphantly, "I'll be in touch!" She scribbled down her cell phone number. "For any new information." She raised her eyebrows, hoping he would accept it. He nodded again and slipped it in to his breast pocket and patted it.

She wrapped her arms around the manila folders, and started to saunter back out the front glass doors, until she heard the door slam behind her and shook the building.

"Great meeting you boys and looking forward to working this case with you. We don't get a lot of FBI way up here in little old Salem." A hearty voice belly laughed.

"Fucking Christ." Stella muttered, frozen in the middle of the fluorescent-lit station lobby. She waited for the inevitable pair of footsteps that forked around her.

"Well well…look what the black cat dragged in," Dean grinned.

Stella pursed her lips. She was hoping this case wouldn't impede on their vacation, and if the Winchesters were here, it could only mean that it was about to get worse.

"Great to see you Agents. What band is it this time? I seem to forget your names from our last encounter." She said it a little too loud and Sam pressed her shoulder forward with a giant palm.

Sam tried leaning down to her level, proving difficult to do while walking, and said through gritted teeth. "Agents Wetton and Downes."

"Mmm, no wonder you're annoyed, Sam. You didn't pick the band." Stella pushed open the glass door with a free hand and tilted her head at Dean. "Asia? Really?"


End file.
